


Ravenous Beasts

by Aminias



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: ALL THE CONSENT, Black Shuck Will, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Creature Hannibal, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Hannibal Big Bang, Hannibal style flirting, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, NOT OF WILL, Past Violence, Raven-Stag Hannibal, Ravenstag, but not really baby he was born this way, creature Will, dark!Will, five senses, or anyone in main cast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 21:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8506756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aminias/pseuds/Aminias
Summary: The wind clamors  around them yelling things that the day would not dare whisper. Bad Loque.Will shifts and the world briefly rearranges itself  once more his appearance is that of a man. The edges of the Stag blur into one tall familiar figure whose cheekbones slice the very air.“Hello, Will.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fizumono](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizumono/gifts), [TigerPrawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerPrawn/gifts).



> HBBC Hannibal Big Bang so late it was it's, own date HUGE THANKS TO: You Pookie, pancakeispeople for their absolutely wonderful art and endless patience with my lateness, Hannigram-Hell and desperatlyseekingcannibals, Cute-As-Hale and a bunch of other for always inspiring me! 
> 
> I'm excited to share my first Hannigram fic :)

_ As certain dark things are to be loved, mon chère. _

Will’s father would drawl as he held mom close. He’d stand just like that, simply staring. Both of them drinking the other in like the cracks of the earth did rain. Then they would dance, his mom leading. She is always smiling wide and flashing bone white teeth.  **Bad loque.** The laughter that followed rumbled around the room and was equal to the noise of the storm outside. 

 

_ Will’s desperate for the hunt.   _

He longs for the solidity of the ground under paw. He wakes at night trembling. Sweating clean through his clothing. Laying about in skin that suddenly  feels stretched and worn, cracking at the seams. Thread binding each muscle unwinding slowly. The sound of the stag’s footsteps echo around his head, as they did in the hospital halls.

The hoofed apparition chases him in both his sleeping and waking hours. He moves automatically about the house. 

The pack piles around him whining platitudes. Will makes it to the doorway stumbling.

Bare foot he steps onto the porch. He knows he cannot trust what he sees. 

The black stag paws through his thoughts using Will's mind like a stomping ground.  

His own body is not safe. That does not mean that this is beyond his other senses. Will closes his eyes and inhales deeply. He can detect the usual, the fragrance of new growth cloying with  decaying things. Will takes another inhale. The aroma of something other teases him. Just beneath that rests the tantalizing scent of iron. He opens his eyes. There beside him in the dirt littered with drops of blood, sits a lone hoof print. 

  
  


_ Is man but mortal, and the gods but infallible? _

Will thinks looking at a well worn Bible.

“Tell me, Will, are you religious?” Hannibal  queries during one of their “conversations.” He’s uncapping a bottle of scotch for Will and pours a glass for both of them while posing the question. He knows by now that Will answers best to bribery. Their shoulders brush as Hannibal  moves to the reshelve  the bottle. 

“In a way.” Will hesitates for a moment. A churchyard cloaked in early morning’s midnight purples and blues mists swirling between crumbling graves flashing before his eyes.

“Are not most people?” He observed, shifting  in his seat the leg he set his glass twitching so much he lifts the tumbler.  

“It’s tempting to believe in a higher power. Something greater.” Will confides. He takes a sip of his drink  under the guise of savoring the taste. (The fortification will do him little, good memory greatest of evils.) 

People stand as sheep in the stockyard before slaughter.

They mill  about bleating to each other.  Hannibal's knee touches his own briefly drawing him from the past as poison from a wound. The point of contact between them.

“Ah.” Hannibal enunciated. “ Salvation.” He took a sip of his own drink. 

Will pointedly kept his attention rapt on his glass. 

Churchgoers, they feel secure in their god that he will save them even as they defy him. 

(He does not).  

Not when they cry out in supplication. Not when the black beast snarls madly, crimson eyes glowing in the fading darkness. Not when he snaps the priest in half with a crunch of his powerful jaws.

Not when the bodies lay littered on the ground like drops of dew on the grass. 

Will lowers his eyes and swirls the glass. It does not help him to escape the weight of  Hannibal's gaze. A stare that doesn’t politely knock or brushes across his skin. No, the tilt of that head and lowering of those lashes breaks down the door without asking to come in and sear Will to the bone. .  .

Hannibal moves  so achingly close that they might reach out and - Will is hyper-aware that a few more inches and they will have two points of contact instead of one.  One he can already barely survive.  But those long talented fingers merely clasp together.

“A higher power does not imply god Will, merely something  beyond what the veneer of  human society can comprehend.”  Interesting that Hannibal chooses the word “humans” and not “our.”

Will's mom didn’t raise him deaf,  blind and without the ability to use his nose. He is hyper-aware of  the odor permeating the air. 

Blood.

His  mouth waters. 

Hannibal offers Will an  indulgent smile from where he sits,  betrayed only by his eyes which are lidded and dark as jagged obsidian.  Equally- if not twice as- deadly. 

Will smiles in return baring teeth that  gleam white  like freshly cut quartz.  

 

_ “The notes played in between are the ones that matter most darling.” _

Will can hear his mother's voice whispering to him, a smile perched on her face. 

His father who lingers in the door to hang up his coat still smells of the swampy motor oil. Clothes permeated by mud cloying that come from working in the silt by the banks. The scent of growing things surrounds the air.

Dad wraps himself around Will's mom, and then he wraps himself in playing a busted travel guitar. 

Will’s fingers rest  on the keys of the beat up piano his mother's hands lay  gently above his guiding their movement. The notes dance around the house chasing off the swirls  fog brought in by days turning to dusk. 

It's this echo of times passed that encircles Will. 

It twists him up like the jagged roots of  a cypress tree raised up and stabbing, digging deep while the tether of soil erodes along with his mind. Hobb’s smirking figure  stands  nestled just out of his sight line. 

**Bad loque** the wind taunts as it hurtles through the trees tearing at Will’s exposed face and knifing past his coat lining to chill bone beneath the skin. The beast stirs, stretching from time spent in languishing.

He wants - “Will, you alright?” Jack asks in that way of his that's more of a check for completion than any true concern.

He’s looking weathered if rigid. Appearing as an office building. One meant to handle earthquake shaken, but not on the verge of collapse. He muses that Jack’s frame is kept in a corporal by the mantle of sheer bureaucracy. 

Will wonders if his tax to pay is scraping himself against the roughshod cement of Jack's campaign to see him never sleep again.

This man cannot know what it is  to see the same as him.  He is only a man. 

No one can. (That he’ll admit to, there is one he thinks of a grin piercing as a freshly sharpened scalpel. )

“Fine.” He pauses rolling his eyes. “Just dandy, Jack.” Lie. The big man says nothing but his eyes narrow. Will has bigger things to worry about like the corpse in front of him and the scent in the air.  “You know how murders get me going..really works the blood.” Truth. 

He wants to challenge Jack. to meet him in the wood in his truest form, eyes gleaming like rubies and hunger gnawing his gut.

Will clenches his hands, feeling the pinprick of claws. 

Jack wouldn’t last three more crime scenes if he could see. (wills not sure all of him is going to either) 

That’s just the nature of the beast. 

Maybe the staunch bureau leader would decide to brush of his statements as mere eccentricities. Well, the rich are eccentric, Will’s quite lucid and aware of his descent into madness. That’s part of the problem.  

  
  


He likens the murder to a big cat resting hidden among bush waiting to strike. The comparison is classic but nonetheless fitting. 

However, cats hunt alone, except when guiding their young. Will looks again. 

“This killer's been leaving presents, taunts rather we won’t catch him least he wants to be caught”. 

Which is not _entirely_ a shame. 

  
  


_ Kiss me death and may we never live to grow cold. _

“Is that how you did it, Will?” Hannibal inquires, all but purring.

Is that how you would kill me? Is the true question that hangs between him like a noose.

“Yes…”  Will muttered  lifting his shoulders in agitation and shaking his head.. Hannibal arches one perfect eyebrow the most blatant of taunts. 

“That's how it was done anyway” He snaps before he can think the better of it. 

They both knew this is not a proper  answer. They each sip wine circling around the issue.

For now.

  
  


_ The quick and the dead.  _

Will thinks the Western turn of phrase fitting as a mortician's dark garb. There is a sureness in his step. A purpose as each paw touches the ground with scarcely a soft murmur from the debris that litters the forest floor  beneath each claw. While it may be  the rolling hills and long pasture he misuses of old the forest is no unbalanced compromise. 

The trees loom, gnarled branches reach towards him as he passes them. The leaves  pass along the whispers of dark things. 

There is night then there is midnight: the moment when all little beasts go to bed and the real monsters come out to play. He snuffles around a root for a moment, seeking a treat.  His nose twitches. A few cottontails and the occasional squirrel and - something better - unnatural.. Will opens his jaws to better catch the scent. 

Musky. Not to be mistaken for mothballs, heady and just this edge of sharp  in the manner of hot mulled wine. He could get drunk just from this whiff and how it feels, warming him from the inside.  Rich. Layered with iron, seasoned with shadows that grace the corners of minds few dare tread. 

The stag.

Wills' tongue lolls out. His mouth waters in anticipation. A murder of crows follows in his wake sensing the coming bloodshed. 

Yes, I could tear him apart.

Will snarls, fangs bared, mad eyes daring  violence.

He circles the clearing like a school kid does the doors of the gym before the high school dance.

Satisfactory and despite himself nervous to get a first glimpse of his date.

Will finally tosses his head and huffs to himself. It’s not like he could be better dressed. 

Confidently he strides out. 

He still isn’t ready to finally see the Stag. The Raven-Stag he amends in quiet awe. 

The very darkness clothes it’s skin. Stray slivers of moonlight dance over the feathers. Will gasps. The very stars illuminate the startling garnet and verdant shades sequestered within the Stag’s magnificent fur. The very dignified head is tilted in his direction, the acknowledgment showing off the impressive rack. Will silently counts twelve lethal points which gleam sharp as a razor. 

The wind clamors  around them yelling things that the day would not dare whisper.  **Bad Loque** .

Will shifts and the world briefly rearranges itself once more his appearance is that of a man.The edges of the Stag blur into one tall, familiar figure whose cheekbones slice the very air.  

“Hello, Will.”

He goes in for the kill. They are on each other in a hands breadth, two titans still clashing as they tumble to the ground.  Will laughs gleefully.

The noise is transformed into a deep, nasty hacking when voiced through his own throat.

Lying this close he could feel the press and strain of Hannibal's thick muscle against his own. Those defined shoulders usually concealed beneath frumpy suits are hot to the touch. 

They ripple beneath Will's hands as he scrambles to get any bare skin he can in his grasp. Finally, panting, Will rested on that broad chest as it moved rapidly up and down. Hannibal's ash blond hair was in wild disarray strands flung all across his face. The doctor exhaled and a few stray hairs fluttered back to the side. 

Will's eyes slid over his figure (one he has seen a thousand times but never quite like this).  Overwhelmed, he nuzzled the inside of Hannibal's neck where it met the shoulder. 

Pianist's hands, fingers long, trim and firm pressed into his curls like the keys playing Will's body as one might strike a chord. Hannibal gently tugged and Will whined sadly, leaving one last teasing nip like a gravestone marker before he withdrew. Face to face one strong arm wrapping itself around Will's back, the other cradling his face. There was no option of retreat. 

His eyes haunt over Hannibal's lips longingly.

Just a taste. 

Hannibal drew him impossibly closer like a spider clinging to it’s catch. Will captures Hannibal's face  in his hands as a Venus Fly Trap did her prey. He angled that chin down, slotting their mouths together for a kiss. Hannibal responds immediately and  the first press of their mouths together is hungry and desperate. 

Will quickly finds out the Doctor kisses like he consumes flesh: with fervent enjoyment and Wills. Every brush of their lips is as strong as a full body caress. 

 When Hannibal adds tongue to the mix, Will openly moans his agreement to the change in heat  and he deepens his exploration. 

They reluctantly break apart. Around them, fireflies wink around them bathing their faces in a soft glow. 

Their noses brush as they rest, inhaling the same breath, both with souls bared raw they are only ravenous beasts.

 

 

~fin~ <3

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Reachable at @till-proven-guilty tumblr
> 
> and the Steter Network chat in Discord as well as Fandom Hell chat come scream about the boys with me I'm dying to hear from you


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